A Tale of Souls
by Bookshrug
Summary: From the depths of the Undead Asylum, she awoke to the light of day and a man offering freedom. But this is not just her story. She can't stand alone. This is a story of lore and legend, betrayal and trust, dark and light, and the measures people are willing to take to achieve what they desire. For there are many souls within this world - and this is but a taste of them.
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone. Hopefully this document formats correctly. If not, I'll try to fix it as soon as I can. 'A Tale of Souls' is based off of the game but takes story lines and character development a tad further. The lore has always interested me so I'll be trying to add in as much as I can. Not all of the story will follow the plot exactly nor the lines of dialogue verbatim. I get a smidge of creative freedom. :p Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter One**

Sounds came to her slowly, like the shifting of tides. Fingernails scraping against the stone ground, the occasional low moan from a nearby Hollow, and the rhythmic pacing of a large and unseen creature – all of these sounds had become familiar and calming. When exhaustion fell upon her lifeless inmates, the symphony of silence crept like spiders along her skin. Uneasy and restless, she would wait on edge until the pound of a fist would echo off the walls. With these noises, all was right in the confined world. The cold bars were her curtains, chains her silk sheets, and the bucket in the corner a feather bed. Yet, these luxuries were comforts she could scarcely remember. Time had eased the passing of memories but for how long had these walls been her cage? Weeks? Months? In the dark, images haunted her mind like the flickering of torch light. Smiles and blue eyes, laughter and faint touches – these too were comforts far from her memory. Even her own name was nothing but a word on the tip of her tongue.

Each day passed exactly as the last. It was impossible to tell when the shade of night fell upon the world and daylight illuminated it. Like a statue, she could feel her body slowing and found no point in movement. That is, until one day, a new sound intruded upon her world.

It was day, too. The blinding light from above filled her consciousness with memories of forgotten warmth. Had she been close to it this whole time? Had the sky and all the colors it had to offer really been so achingly close? A shadow covered the hole in the ceiling and after a moment, her eyes adjusted and the figure became clearer. Whoever it was, they stared down at her from behind a helmet as if contemplating her existence before disappearing from her sight. A jolt ran through her body. The figure was new and in such meaningless waiting, had provided her with something unexpected. Questions burned through her body and the tease of companionship was surprisingly desirable. Her fear was quenched when the figure appeared but they were not alone. With a shove, the mass of a body fell into her pit and she could make out the outline of bronze keys hanging on its waist. Mouth agape, she looked upwards again.

"Thank you," she rasped then startled at the sound of her own voice. When had it become so rustic and weak?

Her gratitude went unnoticed as the figure had already vanished from the hole they had appeared above. For a long moment, she stared at the single patch of blue. It didn't look real and yet as her eyes lowered to the body on the ground… An opportunity was lying in front of her. There was a brief instance where she considered remaining in her corner and letting the body continue to rot until the world met its end. The idea of leaving her comfortable surroundings shook her nerves yet she knew there was no way she could leave the chance at freedom sitting in the cold. She wanted it. No, she needed it.

Wincing, she tried to stand but her knees gave out and she toppled to the ground. Inwardly, she scolded herself. She should not have given up and become statuesque so soon. Her body displayed prominent signs of deterioration and she grimaced as she looked at her arms with new perspective. Focusing once more on the key, she pulled herself along the floor to the body. Freedom felt light in her hands and using the bars for support, she managed to stand upright. Her fingers trembled as she slid the key home and turned. At the click made from unlocking, she exhaled deeply, unaware that she had been holding her breath the whole time. With a gentle nudge, the barred door screeched open and she swallowed hard. With her hands still tightly grasping the bars, she cautiously lifted her foot and planted it forward. Her eyes closed as the smallest smile made guest on her lips. The floor was the same as it was in her cell and yet it had never felt more different. As she used the wall for support and made her way down the hall, she sniffed and found herself smiling once more. Even the air smelled different.

Movement caught her attention and she turned slightly to look at the beast whose pacing had been a metronome for her slumber. Beady eyes connected with hers before it grunted and continued its pattern. Turning back towards the hallway, she shook herself. That was a beast she did not want to deal with.

Several Hollow lined the wall as she made her way. Their bodies screamed of decay and their eyes looked upon nothing as they stumbled around, moaning for their losses. She passed by them without much thought. There was nothing she could do for them, after all.

Eventually, she came upon a doorway covered with the same light that had burned her eyes not long before. Excitement filled her veins and she clamored towards it greedily. She knew what it was and oh, it was beautiful, so beautiful –

For the first time in what felt like forever, the light of day washed over her skin from where she stood. There was even the slightest breeze caressing her cheek and a breath of a laugh escaped her lungs. Nothing would ever feel as good as this moment; she was sure of that. It was unfortunate that the almost religious moment was ruined by the sudden appearance of an arrow embedded into her left shoulder.

Eyes wide, she staggered backwards and threw herself into a small curve of wall, all the while cursing herself for her stupidity. She had been along the Hollow here for so long – how could she forget their mannerisms? While some lost themselves completely, others managed to cling to a semblance of who they were. Even simply holding a sword could bring about an intense desire to hold their position and attack all those who came close. From where she stood, pressed against the wall, she could hear the Hollow archer pull another arrow and the metallic cling as the point ricocheted off the stone. There was no way she was going to let this meager bother stop her from touching freedom. After pulling the arrow from her shoulder with a grunt, her eyes flew around her surroundings until they came upon a body leaning up against the wall she hid against. Whoever it was, they still retained their shield. Bracing herself, she took a deep breath and scooped up the leather shield, turning around the corner and allowing her shield to block the incoming arrow that sped towards her. With the shield held up to protect her head, she rushed forward, stopping only to reach down and slid an old looking scimitar into her hand. With shield and sword in hand, a familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through her blood. There was purpose in the blade and she wielded it fiercely. As the Hollow turned to flee, she caught it by the neck and wedged the scimitar between its shoulder blades. With the flat of her foot, she kicked her blade free of its body, breath ragged. As the Hollow hit the ground, a soft rush of energy hit her chest and strangely, she felt her exhaustion lessen. Standing straighter, she looked down at her arms, turning them this way and that. They appeared the tiniest fuller and the scimitar and shield felt lighter in her grasp. Frowning, she let this notion pass out of her mind.

The walls of her prison seemed to twist and turn, complete with ladders and stairs, but she followed the torches in hopes that they would lead her to some sort of exit. From there, she did not know where she would go. Still, she would take her escape one step at a time and figure out the details along the way. Above her were the sounds of bangs and thumps but she paid them little mind as she walked the stone paths. As she walked up a staircase, a loud noise crashed behind her and she stopped, turning at the waist and raising her shield in defense of the unknown. When nothing came towards her, she turned and froze as a giant boulder rolled towards her. Quick on her feet, she rolled to the side, landing firmly on the staircase below on the heels of her feet. The boulder collided with the wall behind her and she straightened. Distractions were foolish. She knew that and yet a sound had pulled her focus away. Walking back up the stairs, she scoffed lightly at the hole in the wall. Her remains could very well have been splashed upon the stone bricks. With one last scoff, she readjusted her shield and began to trek up the stairs the boulder had been placed on when once again, she froze. But no boulder came crashing towards her nor did a Hollow thrust a sword in her direction. Instead, it was a labored wheeze from inside the newly created hole that iced her skin. It was not the sound of a Hollow.

Dust still drifted in the air and as she approached the hole, she lifted the scimitar and shield, not to be caught off guard this time. It was dark inside the small room, vaguely reminiscent of the cell she had so recently stepped from, and before she could stop herself, a cough emitted from her chest as she breathed in the heavy, stone dust.

"Oh, you… You're no hollow, eh?"

The sound of another's voice stunned her for a moment but as she stepped forward, she caught sight of the figure lying in a ray of light. She glanced upwards, taking in the small hole in the ceiling and swallowed hard.

The figure – a man now, she could see from the way his armor lay on him – sat up slowly, body trembling, but he gasped and fell back against the bed of stone that had apparently cushioned his fall. "Thank goodness," he breathed, tilting his head back and though she could not see his face, she could hear a smile in his tone.

"You're…the one with the key," she said slowly. The words were almost ripped from her throat but somehow she knew this man would not mind.

He nodded once before letting his head fall back again. "Yes. Yes, that was me,"

She stepped forward, bending down on one knee. "Thank you." A pause. "Let me…help you,"

The man waved a hand. "No, I'm done for, I'm afraid… I'll die soon, then lose my sanity,"

With a groan, the man attempted to sit up again but fell back with a bitter laugh. When she reached out to help him, he shook his head. "No, no… I only wish to ask something of you. You and I…we're both Undead." He paused, anxiety seeming to overcome him. "Hear me out, will you?"

She nodded once and he visibly relaxed. "Thank you… Regrettably, I have failed in my mission but…perhaps you can keep my torch lit." A cough suddenly sputtered from his lips and he bent forward, body trembling harder than before. She grimaced at the sight and reached out, desperately wanting to help her savior, but once again, he waved her assistance away. "There is," he took a deep breath to fuel his speech. "an old saying in my family. 'Thou who art Undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords,"

The old words lingered in the room until silence drifted in. With a cough, the man laughed and shook his head. "Well, now you know. And I can die with hope in my heart,"

"You don't have to die," she said firmly but he only chuckled, seeming to ignore her incessant pleas for his life.

"One more thing," Weakly, he placed his hand in a small pouch attached to his waist. "Take this," From it, he pulled out a bronze key, smaller than the one first thrown down to her. She took it slowly from his hand and her fingers lingered against his palms as she warred with the idea of simply grabbing him up and somehow managing to escape with him. But before she could think long on it, his hand lowered back to his side.

"Who are you?" she asked him, and he turned his head to look at her.

Again, she could hear the smile in his tone. "I am Oscar, a knight of Astora. Do I have the pleasure of your name?"

Her lips parted and yet she had no name to give him. Trouble plagued her mind as she searched through her memory and still, nothing. The man, Oscar, stretched out his hand to touch his fingertips to her shoulder. "There is no worry. If it does not return to you, you can choose a new name for yourself. For now, you are a friend; that is what truly matters," Another shudder crippled his body and a low moan escaped him as he bent forward. Uncaring of his resistance, she stood and took his shoulders in her hands, gently lowering him back against the stones.

"I must…bid farewell," Oscar said quietly. "I would hate to harm you after death, so go now…"

When she lingered, he reached out one hand to her hip but his push was weak. She stepped backwards and towards the hole. "Let me help you," she said again but like the times before, he chuckled.

"No…" His voice had become nothing more than a whisper and his breathing labored. "But…thank you, my friend."

Against every instinct, she turned from her savior and headed up the stairs. She hardly recognized the Hollow men who came at her at the top of the stairs nor the ones that attacked when the fresh chill of air met her decrepit skin. All she could think of was that she was leaving the man who had unselfishly taken the time to hand her salvation. The Hollow fell before her feet and her scimitar dripped with what little blood remained in them. Oscar. She paused at a ledge that overlooked a large courtyard. How could she leave behind the man who gave her the chance at life again? But she had seen the hole in the ceiling and she had heard the fail of his body. He had given her life but doing so had cost him his own.

The sound of deep breathing came from below her and she felt her fingers twitch. Standing towards a doorway was a creature much like the one near her cell. It snorted loudly, shifting the immense hammer it held from hand to hand, as her eyes flashed to the rooftop that showed signs of wear and tear from a battle.

Her mouth tightened as she stared down at the creature. Oscar had given her life.

At the very least, she could avenge his.

Grasping her scimitar until her knuckles turned white, she stepped from the ledge. Air enveloped her and time seemed to slow. As she lifted her blade, the creature turned, looking up at her with black eyes but her strike was quick. Her feet slammed into the beast's nose while her blade plunged deep into its skull. A roar shook her world as she leapt from the creature, landing on the ground and immediately leaping to the side as it slammed the hammer down in an attempt to destroy the being that threatened it. But the rage that fueled it was equally as strong in her. As the hammer connected with the ground, she threw herself forward, rolling between the creature's legs and slashing her scimitar at its hind quarters. Blindly, it swung angrily and as she rolled, the hammer connected with her side. A gasp burst from her as her body slammed into a nearby pillar and knocked it down. The world blurred as black spots danced in front of her eyes and she heard the thud of the creature's feet as it approached. Raising her shield, she braced herself, tumbling forward as her vision cleared. She could feel the rush of air above her head as the creature swung, clipping the top of her shield.

Had she simply stumbled upon this demon, perhaps it would have won. But she had been trapped for too long and too much had been sacrificed already. She fought for the taste of fresh air. The view of a blue sky. For the life Oscar had given her. She fought – and nothing would stop her from winning.

With exhaustion pooling quickly, she let out a yell and swung towards the massive creature with all of her might. The scimitar sliced into the creature's stomach and she leapt back to avoid the rush of blood and innards. Leaning back its head, the creature howled and fell backwards, crushing a pillar as it toppled.

Breath ragged, she stood, then fell to her knees. The corpse lay before her and the fresh scent of death made her gag. Using the scimitar to stand, she walked towards the large, closed door the beast had been standing before. It took almost all of her strength to open the doors but it was the sight that lay spread out in front of her that could have brought her to her knees once more.

Green grass was scattered among snowy rocks. As she walked, she stared down at her feet and watched in amazement as the ground sank beneath her shoes. Soft – the ground was so soft. The sight of mountains and a never ending sky led her forward towards the edge in an almost trance-like state. Had a color ever been so bright?

As she stared out at the world, heaviness filled her heart. Freedom was a gift but it was unfortunate to be standing in it alone. Yet, she would not waste what had been given to her. The thought made her smile briefly. Oscar of Astora. No, she would not let him down. In fact, she would dedicate such a life towards the man who had freed her and given her the opportunity for another chance.

"Choose a name…" she muttered. Her gaze turned solemnly back towards the stone prison. "A name…"

At the bottom of the hill, the asylum seemed small and lonely. A distant ruffling grew steadily closer as it hummed through the air and thin sheets of snow drifted at her feet while the cold wind tangled within the folds of her tattered clothes. Her bone-like fingers pulled up the hood of her coat, protecting her from the cold, and she gave a shadow of a smile.

"Ostora. My name is Ostora."

With that she turned to face the sky, only to be swept swiftly away by the clutches of a giant crow.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, everyone. First off, thanks for the views/follows/ and nice words – they mean a lot and certainly encourage me to write more. I'm not sure if chapters will follow a schedule or I'll just post them when they're written – I prefer quality over quantity. I will attempt to post at least twice a week, however. The story is starting off slow but eh, I'm okay with that. More characters will be introduced shortly. Anyway, let's carry on – and thanks again! :]

**Chapter Two**

With the treetops far below, she was at the mercy of the crow that had swept her into its grasp. At first, Ostora had swung her legs and turned at the shoulders but much to her disdain, she found that one talon pressed into where her shoulder wound was. Not only was struggling pointless but it was immensely painful. As the trees turned into mere blades of grass, Ostora stared solemnly out at the mist of mountains they flew towards. Her shield and scimitar were tight in her hands. What destination the crow had in mind, she would not be taken unaware.

For the moment, there was no point in fighting. Drifting through the air was somewhat peaceful and Ostora found a sense of calm spreading over her consciousness. The crow would beat his wings every few minutes then settle into a smooth glide. It would angle to the side, making long and effortless turns. With the wind rippling through her clothes, Ostora's mind wandered to thoughts of flight. How easy freedom must be to those with wings – and how envious those chained to the land must be. If the crow chose to drop her, perhaps she would not detest it but feel grateful for the fleeting moment of euphoria brought by hanging amid the air.

Her thoughts were interrupted for in the distance, gray walls began to peek over the ceiling of trees. A flash of fear struck Ostora's heart despite her attempt at bravado. Had she escaped one cage only to be thrown into another? Was her effort all for nothing? Yet the closer the crow took her, the more she became aware that what once had been a building was now nothing more than ruins. Green moss covered the stone like a coat of paint and she could see incomplete ledges and broken stairs that led to nowhere.

Turning sharply, the crow released its hold on Ostora. The fall was short and she met the ground with a low 'oomph', catching herself on her feet and rolling onto her side. The shield and scimitar were flung from her hands as her left shoulder burned at the weight put upon it. Lips twisting into a grimace, Ostora shifted onto her back. The crow circled in the air above and she watched as it lazily drifted to the right, landing on a flat, upper level of the ruins.

Placing a hand over her shoulder, Ostora sat up slowly. A splinter of pain flashed through her arm and she squeezed it with frustration. All that time in the asylum had dampened her common sense. The wound should have been treated sooner or at least bandaged and yet in a rage of emotion, she had taken a hellish creature. At least, she thought to herself with an ounce of pride, she had won.

"Well, what do we have here?"

At the sound of the voice, Ostora turned quickly, bouncing on her heel and snatching up the scimitar – the shield lay out of her reach. Sitting not far from where she crouched, a man stared at her over a thinly lit bonfire. His chainmail shone in the sunlight and Ostora could make out the trace of stubble around his chin. If he felt threatened by her at all, he made no show of it. Instead, he smirked and leaned forward to rest his chin on the palm of his hand.

"You must be a new arrival," he said, furrowing his brow.

Ostora stood cautiously. Her eyes flickered to where her shield lay before focusing back on the stranger.

He only blinked, his smirk spreading wider. "Now, now. Don't try anything clever. You might regret it," He chuckled, leaning back against the grimy wall behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. "So. Let me guess. Fate of the Undead, right? Sorry to say, but you're not the first."

Ostora frowned as the man stretched out his arms, settling into a more comfortable position. Fate of the Undead? His words reminded her of what Oscar had said – _Thou who art Undead, art chosen. _But like so much else, the meaning was lost to her.

"But there's no salvation here," the man continued, yawning as he looked at Ostora lazily. "You'd have done better to rot in the Undead Asylum." The arrogant smirk Ostora was becoming all too familiar with returned. "But…too late now."

Without letting her guard down completely, Ostora relaxed her posture slightly. As the man stared at her, the bonfire flickered languidly. The ruins – not of a castle, she could see, but of a shrine – held a solemn sort of calmness and Ostora took a deep breath before turning her attention back to the stranger.

"I don't know what you're talking about," was all she said, walking to where her shield had rolled. She picked it up, casually keeping it to her side.

The man's eyes danced to her arm and she knew he noticed how tense she kept herself. He raised one eyebrow. "No…?" he said slowly. He bent forward and cupped his chin in his palm once again. "Well, since you're here, let me help you out."

Ostora scoffed softly. Somehow, she doubted that this man's desire was to truly help her. "I'm fine," she muttered. The man opened his mouth to speak but whatever he said was lost to Ostora. She made her way up a series of small stairways and through an arch, coming to rest at a square pond. Sighing, Ostora sat. Setting the shield and scimitar beside her, she gingerly untied the first notches of her coat, pushing it halfway down her left shoulder to expose the wound there. The bleeding had stiffened the cloth and she shuddered as it stuck to her skin. Pulling it brought fresh blood dripping down her arm. She dipped one hand into the water and tenderly washed her shoulder. It wasn't perfectly clean – such a thing seemed like it would take weeks to achieve – but she was satisfied enough for the time being. Using the end of one sleeve as a bandage, she wrapped her shoulder tightly and pulled back up her coat. The small act of healing brought a smile to her face and relief to her worries – there was a quiet comfort in such a routine. Alone by the pool of water, Ostora lay back against the grass. A blade tickled at her neck and she plucked it with an almost inaudible laugh. Another quiet comfort.

In the peace of the ruins, Ostora stared up at the sky and listened to the crow pick at branches and fluff its wings. For as long as she could, she stared at the sun, closing her eyes when purple spots appeared in her vision. Her body relished in her greedy duration of rest and she paid no attention to the urge for movement and activity. No, for right now she would lay in the grass beside the cool of water and beneath the blanket of sky. Who knew when these things would be available to her again? She would not take them for granted; never again.

At last, when the sun burned the sky orange and left a trail of bruises along its path, Ostora got to her feet. She brushed off her clothes and rolled her shoulder once to test the sturdiness of her bandages. The strips of cloth stayed in place and she was pleased to see that the pain had subsided some. With one more stolen look at the sunset against the water, Ostora turned and headed from the water and down the steps she had followed.

The man's gaze was immediately on her and he had not moved – though this was no surprise to her. He did not strike her as the type to adventure. At least, not anymore.

"So," he said, and she was surprised to see him stand. "I see you're back." He made his way towards the bonfire before sitting then gestured to the empty spot in front of him. Ostora hesitated for a moment before sitting herself before the flames. In the chill of the evening, they warmed her skin and she shuddered lightly, hoping that the stranger would not notice.

Another smirk flickered over his lips and she knew that he had. "Come to accept my offer of kindness?"

Circling her arms around her knees, Ostora met the man's gaze with a steady one of her own. "And how would you know how to help me, exactly?"

Unoffended, the man shrugged. "I hear things. See things. Learn things." He paused and his tone softened as he focused on the flames. "I've been here longer than you know." Silence descended over the ruins before he shook himself, replacing the strange, wistful look with the arrogant smirk he had worn earlier. "But you aren't the first to come through here. There were two others recently." The stranger snickered. "But then again, they seemed to know what they were doing,"

"In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords," Ostora muttered before she could stop herself.

The glare the man sent her was startling. "Oh yes. Those words. So detailed. I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing." He rolled his eyes and fell flat against the grass, looking up at the darkening sky.

A hint of anger flashed through Ostora in reaction to the subtle attack on Oscar's words but she smothered it, mouth tightening. "Well, then. You're right. I don't know what I'm doing."

She watched as the man closed his eye and raised his hand, flashing two fingers in her direction. "The Bells of Awakening. Two bells, actually. One's up above - ," His fingers pointed upwards. " - in the Undead Church. "The other is far, far below – " He gave a low whistle as his fingers plummeted towards his chest. " – in the ruins of the base of Blighttown. Ring them both and something happens," With a chuckle, he opened one eye and glanced in Ostora's direction. "Brilliant, right?"

Ostora frowned. "Why would I do that?" And yet even as she asked the question, she felt a stirring in her gut. The Bells of Awakening. Somehow, they were intertwined with Oscar's words – though she had no idea how.

The stranger shrugged, closing his eye and shifting his shoulders into the grass. "I don't know. It's not much to go on but I have a feeling that won't stop you. It didn't stop the others."

He was right – the lack of information wouldn't stop her. Perhaps it was all like her escape from the asylum: the details would fill in as she needed them. For now, she would take things one step at a time.

"You know," the man spoke suddenly. "you're practically Hollow. You'd be prettier if you weren't but who knows – it could solve quite a bit!" Hands positioned under his head, the man burst out laughing but Ostora simply stared, failing to see the humor in his words. He caught onto her silence and his eyes blinked open with a roll. "Oh, lighten up!" With a grunt, he propped himself up on one elbow. "Listen. Here's a piece of information I can give you. Your pretty humanity – you can restore it,"

Chin still resting against her arms, Ostora raised an eyebrow. "Ring some bells and something happens?"

"Oh! So she's not completely dry!" The man barked a laugh, grinning widely. "There's a few ways to go about it but the quickest – though, I'd never do it – is to kill a healthy Undead and pillage its humanity." His muddy eyes flashed darkly. "Coveting thy neighbor is only human, after all."

"All you've told me is how to get humanity. Not how to restore my own," Ostora said, though she wasn't sure if she was content with the 'how' he had provided her with. She herself was Undead – her own humanity was at risk to be…coveted.

The man lay back down against the grass. "Oh," he sighed. With one hand, he gestured nonchalantly to the fire. "Just feed it here. The fire will thank you, I suppose,"

As he closed his eyes with a loud yawn, Ostora got to his feet. "Thank you for your help," she murmured.

The man sat up quickly as she began to walk towards the area she had made rest in previously. "Hey! Where are you going? I don't bite."

"I haven't decided if that's true or not," Ostora replied. She turned on her heel towards the stairs then paused, looking back at the stranger. "Who are you?"

With a smile, the man shrugged his shoulders and the chainmail he wore rattled. "Me? Oh, I'm no one." His eyes sparkled mischievously as he spoke. "I'm simply…crestfallen."

Ostora made her way back to the pool of water, leaving the man to laugh at words apparently funny to him before settling herself for sleep.

Above her, the moon glistened and the crow watched on like a silent guardian. The Bells of Awakening. The land of the Ancient Gods. Thoughts tumbled around her head like pebbles cascading down a hill and gathering in number.

Sleep took her uneasily as the knight's laughter echoed around the ruined shrine.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey, everyone. There's not enough coffee in the world to wake me up today. So this isn't super long. Apologies~ For now, I'm off on a caffeine adventure. :]

**Chapter Three**

The energy of a Hollow never seemed to run out. They could chase for miles, attack without hesitation, and no obstacle was a challenge when violence overtook their consciousness. Like ants, they could carry unimaginable amounts of weight and their strength never wavered. He was not Hollow, however, so none of this applied to him.

"Go through the courtyard, she says. It'll be fine, she says," Chambers muttered under his breath as he pressed against a long pillar. Instinctively, his eyes shut as a giant boar smashed into the pillar from behind. The ground shook with the impact and he took advantage of the quakes to roll forward, taking refuge behind another pillar. But because nothing seemed to be going his way this morning, he stared into the glowing eyes of a Hollow soldier.

"Well, you're a sight,"

The Hollow screeched, the tendons in its neck stretching until they looked as if they would snap, and it thrust the spear it held towards Chambers' chest. The cleric quickly raised his small shield, rolling to the right and into the clearing. A low growl purred from the Hollow's throat as it raised its shield, studying him carefully. Chambers scoffed under his breath. That was just what he needed – a Hollow to patiently wait for the opportune moment to strike.

He quickly spun around, only to be knocked off his feet by a swipe of the massive boar's head. The moment he hit the ground, he shifted to his side, barely avoiding an incoming arrow. As the boar stepped backwards, scratching its hoof against the ground, the cleric's pale eyes locked onto a charging Hollow to his left. The soldier's eyes were blazing as it roared and it held its sword high above its head. Taking a quick breath, Chambers grasped his mace tightly, lifted himself into a crouch, and – fell promptly onto his face.

His breath was expelled from his lungs as his head bounced against the stone path. Without time to think, he rolled as much as he was able as a sword came swinging down past his face. For a second, he stared at his reflection in the silver of the blade. A man in panic stared back at him which was fitting because he certainly felt panicked. Stumbling to his feet, Chambers had half an instance to realize that the arrow previously shot towards him had twisted the cloth from his robe around its shaft, wedging both into the cracks of the stones. Not for the first time, the thought struck Chambers that clerics should take their wardrobe decisions into serious consideration.

As Chambers threw his shield up, the Hollow swung again, spittle flying from thin lips as it screeched. His shield smashed against the Hollow's wrist, knocking it away. Startled, the Hollow stumbled back a step and the cleric brought his mace down, embedding it in the soldier's chest. He pulled it free with a sickening slick of mangled, dead flesh and looked towards the arrow that pinned his robe down. He could only tug it once before the boar's forehead connected squarely with his side. The arrow broke, freeing him as his body went flying back towards the high platform two Hollow archers stood upon. Hard ground came up to meet Chambers and he felt blood pool at his lips as rivers of pain rippled through his body. He coughed and spat, ridding his mouth of the red liquid.

"Anytime now would be wonderful," Chambers yelled, shakily getting to his feet and stepping backwards as the archers focused on him from above. Under the safety of their platform, he stared at the boar. Tiny red eyes seemed to hone in on him and the boar grunted, nostrils flaring. Behind the boar, the Hollow soldier raised its shield and spear, as if waiting to see what would happen.

Steadying himself, Chambers took a deep breath, lifting his own shield and the rusted mace he carried. Sweat and blood dripped down the sides of his face and his body shook from the battering he had taken. From where he stood, the boar's tusks seemed sharper and the metal covering it thicker. It was all too easy to picture his body impaled upon one of those tusks, broken and limp. Swallowing hard, Chambers hunched forward and the boar followed suit. At least the Hollow's spear was out of range and the arrows raining from above had stopped.

Throwing its head from side to side, the boar rushed forward. Chambers braced himself, prepared to dodge and slash with all his strength. This was it. This was the moment. It was now or –

From the platform above, a mass fell and the gleam of a blade reflected off the sun. Chambers held his shield up to cover his eyes from the blinding light. The small figure landed on the boar with a thud and the shining blade disappeared far into its skull. A piercing squeal filled the air as the boar thrashed and its red eyes fluttered before it finally fell onto its side. The shadow-like figure leapt from the corpse and with a snap of the wrist, sent a small dagger flying towards the Hollow steadily approaching. The dagger struck precisely between the hollow's eyes and its head bent back as its body fell.

Chest heaving, Chambers lowered his mace and shield. His posture relaxed as his eyes narrowed. "Well, you took your time," he snapped.

The figure, a petite woman dressed in a thin shirt and trimmed pants, shrugged her shoulders apathetically.

"You told me this would be easy," Chambers continued, watching the woman walk towards the fallen Hollow. "Not that a giant pig would be waiting – which by the way, who knew_ those_ existed?"

The woman bent down, pulling her dagger free from the Hollow's skull and wiping the thick blood off on her thigh. Raising her eyebrows, she gestured with her larger blade around the empty courtyard.

Chambers sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, Myrill, I know that they're dead but that's not the point." With a roll of her eyes, the woman walked towards him and ran a hand through her mess of black hair. Chambers glared again. "Oh no, don't give me that. You're not the one who fought a giant pig."

The woman grunted softly as she pointed to the dead boar with her blade.

"I loosened it up for you!" Chambers exclaimed.

As Myrill's shoulders shook with a silent chuckle, she started towards a series of stairs but Chambers grabbed her by the shoulder. She stumbled slightly and her eyes narrowed to thin slits. Firmly, she pointed towards the stairs and made to move towards them but Chambers took her shoulder again. "You can't be serious. My organs are more than likely failing and you want to walk in there? Take on that?" His hand flew wildly up at the church that loomed beyond a closed gate. At her look, Chambers' voice rose. "You think_ this_ was a warm welcome? Fine, Myrill, let's go. But don't hate yourself when you're fighting over my corpse,"

Myrill shook her head and pushed Chambers' hold away. She took a few steps towards the stairs but came to a stop. Her head tilted back and her eyes closed before she finally looked back at Chambers. After a moment of contemplating him, her expression softened and she sighed.

"We'll come back." Chambers added. "With all my strength. They won't stand a chance."

The small thief approached the tall cleric and took his arm, wrapping it around her shoulders. Looking down at her, Chambers gave a laugh. "I can walk back – haven't lost my legs yet," If she heard him, she gave no sign and instead pulled him in the direction they had come from. "Thank you, Myrill," he said quietly.

Myrill gave him a gentle smile, readjusting her hold as they began to walk.

Chambers grinned suddenly. "Do you think Gabriel will give us some advice?" he asked and Myrill jerked him sharply. Wincing, Chambers chuckled. "True. Even I don't have faith in that,"

And with her support, the two made their way down the stone path in hopes of returning to the bonfire that made home in the mossy ruins of a shrine. Behind them, the church grew further away but locked away in its tower, the bell seemed to glisten in the sun.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey, everyone. Sorry for the delay. This ended up a lot longer than I meant and I spent some time plotting out future chapters. Just sort of realized how big this story is going to get - but that's alright. Classes start up soon but I still feel confident in promising at least two chapters a week. I actually have chapter five almost typed up – originally it was going to be part of chapter four but when I hit seven pages in word, I figured I would cut chapter four in half…unless you guys prefer longer chapters. Then I don't mind keeping everything together. But I'll have chapter five posted in a day or two – that's why this chapter is slow, however. I'm not a huge fan of introductions but they are necessary. With the length of the story, I don't want to rush into the "good parts" (as much as I'd like to write them immediately). Ah, also, I had to name an unnamed character. Usually I hate doing so but for future chapters, it's necessary. Anyways, let's continue! :]

**Chapter Four**

In the Undead Asylum, waking hours and time spent in slumber mingled together. If she had indeed slept, she soon forgot it except for the bruises that would run up her bony hips - a constant reminder of the stone, hard ground. Now, however, she woke slowly and bathed in the feeling of such a thing. As her consciousness chimed to life, her eyes remained closed as she took in the small details of the world around her through touch and sound. The grass crushed beneath her was damp with fresh dew. The water in the shallow pool gently swayed with the pull of the wind. Above her, the crow pecked at its nest and rearranged sticks. The warm, morning light melted into her sickly skin and she shuddered. How could she have forgotten these things?

Despite the urge to lie on the ground forever, the morning called to her. Ostora sat up, stretching out her right arm and then, carefully, her left. As she took a deep breath, a cough rippled through her chest and she grimaced. With cupped hands, she bent towards the pool, bringing a small sip of water to her lips. Though cold, the water had a strange taste to it and again, Ostora grimaced. With water like that, it was arguably better to have a burning throat.

There were things that needed to be done but what, she did not know. Not exactly. Bells had to be rung but how to get to them? How to proceed? Inwardly, Ostora sighed. No doubt she'd have to ask the sullen warrior for more information.

Sifting through the questions that ran rampant in her mind, Ostora made her way down a small flight of stairs and startled as she came face to face with a man. Equally startled, he stumbled slightly but composed himself just as fast.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, a smile crossing his round face. Thin, blonde hair looked as if it had been neatly placed on the top of his head and his armor stretched around his plump form. Yet, he had kind eyes, Ostora observed. Yes, kind and gentle. "Hello, there - I believe we're not acquainted?"

"Ah," Ostora spoke slowly, coughing once. Perhaps she should have endured the water. "No."

The man's demeanor was so different from the warrior by the bonfire that his genuine sincerity almost confused Ostora. "Ah, well, I am Petrus of Thorolund."

"Ostora," came her reply, along with a courteous nod of her head.

The man, Petrus, smiled again. "And have you business with us?"

"No," Ostora shook her head as she glanced around the ruined shrine. "Only...questions, I suppose,"

When she looked back at the man, a fog had drifted over his eyes. What once had been a friendly smile now seemed focused and intense - guarded, almost. But when she blinked, it was gone.

"I can be of no assistance there," Petrus said. "and I would prefer to keep a distance, if possible,"

Ostora's lips parted at the sudden snap behind the cordial tone of his voice. "I-"

"G'morn, then, madam,"

And with a brief bow at the waist, the man walked past her and up a longer set of stairs. Ostora stared after him, lips still parted as she went over their short conversation. Had she said something offensive? Time in the asylum had taken much from her but she was sure that basic social skills had not been lost. Yet all at once, Petrus had seemed cautious. And of her, of all people - if only he knew how aloof she felt.

Putting the man out of her mind, Ostora walked forward, bracing herself for another conversation with the man from the previous night. As she was about to step into the clearing, new sounds stopped her short. Voices - there were voices. Three, to be exact. She hesitated, listening to the voices that drifted towards her.

"Well, we would have made it in but that damn boar was a hassle," A male voice complained, low and full of youth.

"I could have told you that," Ostora scoffed - she certainly knew the owner of that voice. "Better to stay here, in my opinion,"

"Wait, Gabriel, you knew about it, too?" Ostora raised an eyebrow. Gabriel?

"Of course. I told Myrill. Didn't she tell you?"

"No, she didn't - oh. Ha ha, funny,"

"I thought so."

There was a brief moment of silence and then the young sounding man sighed loudly. "You're right, Myrill. This would all be easier if the lift wasn't broken."

A frown tugged at one side of Ostora's lips. Why was the man speaking when no one had said anything? Was the person speaking too quietly for her to hear?

"But we found the church at least," the man continued. "- so ringing the bell should be easy,"

"If it was easy, you would have done it already,"

The banter between the two men continued but Ostora remained frozen on the words 'church' and 'bell'. Was he speaking of the same ones told to her? Could it be that his destination was the same as her own?

It was as if her feet separated from her mind in order to fulfill their desire. She stepped out into the clearing and three heads turned towards her; two of them looked surprised to see her. They sat around the bonfire as the flames stretched in fingers towards the sky.

"You again?" The man from the night before grinned. He was situated farther from the bonfire but close enough to still be involved in polite conversation. His chainmail seemed to glow in the delicate, morning light and a few tufts of chestnut hair sprang in random directions. Warriors, it appeared, were just as susceptible to bedhead as anyone else.

"Ah..." Ostora began, blinking once as if trying to recall how she had gotten there. "Excuse me. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's alright," The owner of the youthful voice spoke up. Indeed he was young, though not as much as his voice promised. Tall with lean limbs, he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and sent a smile Ostora's way. Blonde hair that had been burnt red by the sun curled past his ears and freckles ran in rivers over a nose that was too square. "There's really not a lot of privacy here," He shrugged as if this made no difference to him.

The third figure, a slender and petite woman, only stared. Her messy, black hair was cropped short and had Ostora seen her from a distance, she would have mistaken her for a small boy. Ostora fidgeted under the green eyed gaze. "You mentioned a bell, though?"

With another wide grin, the chainmail warrior leaned forward. "A Bell of Awakening, you mean,"

Ostora's eyes bore into his. "Yes. That was what I meant." She said sharply, then paused and added quietly with a lift of one eyebrow. "Gabriel." The man's grin fell immediately.

Clearly uncomfortable, the young man cleared his throat. "We did - that is, I did - mention a bell. Myrill and I came close to it but I had to stop a boar first. It didn't end well," The woman gave a short grunt and jabbed the young man with an elbow almost as pointed as her glare. "Sorry. Myrill stopped it, I mean," Smugly, the woman nodded.

"I'm going to the bell," Ostora said, looking between the pair. "That is, I'm supposed to. Or rather, I believe I'm supposed to or - "she stopped, knitting her brow. Heat bloomed against her cheeks as she averted her eyes. "I'm not actually certain, really,"

"We understand," At Ostora's look, the young man smiled. "We do. That odd sensation in your gut telling you you're meant to do something great. To accomplish something - yet you don't even know what that is?" The woman sitting next to him bobbed her head. "Yes. We understand,"

The man, Gabriel, yawned and stretched back against the stone, crossing his arms over his chest. "I lost my nerve for that sort of thing,"

Ignoring him, Ostora walked to the group and settled herself before the bonfire. Though, out of instinct or arguably social insecurity, she kept herself a safe but polite distance away. "But the bells; that much we know,"

"One in the Undead Church, the other in Blighttown," the young man added. Abruptly, his eyes lit up with the gleam of a thought. "You know, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea if you - oomph!"

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a solid hit in the side from the woman. Fists curled, the glare she sent him rivaled the heat of the bonfire. He rubbed at his side with a wince and looked apologetically at Ostora.

"Excuse us for a moment, if you don't mind,"

As the man got to his feet, Ostora realized that he was taller than she originally believed and as he grabbed the woman's forearm and pulled her to her feet, she much smaller. Almost dragging her, the man and woman retreated to a nearby well. The woman gestured wildly and though her lips did not move, the man seemed to respond in accordance.

"Such a lovely couple, hmm?" Ostora looked over at the chainmail warrior. "Isn't love grand?"

"They're together?" she asked, stealing a glance at the pair from the corner of her eye. The woman's lips were curled as she lifted her small hand and tightened it into a fist. The young man shook his head vehemently.

The motion of Gabriel's shrug brought her attention back towards him. "They arrived together, they leave together – who knows what else they do together?"

Ostora looked towards the flames as she felt her cheeks burn again at his implication. She was not a prude towards intimacy but rather, it was hard to believe that there was even such a thing left in the world. As she watched the flames dance, a connection clicked in Ostora's mind and her head perked up. "These two – are they the ones you mentioned last night?"

Gabriel nodded. "I told you they seemed to know what they were doing." He paused before his eyes narrowed darkly and a sly smirk played on his lips. "They're going to ask you to go along with them - cooperate together, take on this big, dark world."

"If it benefits us all, I'm not sure I see any fault," Ostora said. She looked at the pair with new, thoughtful eyes. The young man had a mace hooked into the belt of his robes. It was rusted and worn with use but if handled properly, could be deadly. On the woman's hip was a dagger – regularly sharpened, Ostora could tell. Several pouches also lined the woman's waist which were no doubt filled with daggers and poisons; items that suited the woman's stealthy appearance. The two could prove useful in battle.

"Bloody hell," Gabriel snapped. "Do you even listen?" At Ostora's blank expression, he shook his head. "You're Undead. They're Undead. Now, what might an Undead covet, hmm?"

The meaning of his words dawned on Ostora. The pair suddenly took on a new presence. The man's mace now looked heavy and dangerous instead of rusted and worn. It could all too easily break a skull or crush a rib. The dagger on the woman's hip looked as if it could slice through flesh like butter.

"Humanity," Ostora murmured. "You're saying they could take my humanity,"

"So she does listen after all,"

As if on cue, the petite woman threw up her hands, heading back towards the bonfire with the young man close behind. Despite her pout, a great smile lay on the man's face. "Well," he said cheerily. "We've discussed it and mutually agreed that perhaps our parties should join," The woman snorted and the man shot her a look before continuing. "After all, our goals appear the same. The world is complicated enough as it is,"

Ostora was silent for a moment before she offered the man a small smile of her own. He seemed genuine enough yet the suspicion Gabriel had planted in her chest bloomed quietly. Maybe they did have ulterior motives but maybe not – whichever case, she would be well prepared. And if they waited until after the bell was rung to betray her, then all the better. "I'd like that," came her answer.

"Good!" the young man said. Another light sparked in his eyes and his eyebrows shot up. "Well, since we'll be traveling together, I suppose it'd be best to at least know your name. My own is Chambers. And this is Myrill." He gestured with an open hand towards the woman.

Ostora gave them each a nod – though she didn't linger long on the woman. "Ostora," she said matter-of-factly.

"Well, Ostora," Chambers said, "we were about to venture back to the Undead Church. If you'd grab your things, we can head off,"

"Of course," Ostora pulled herself to her feet, wincing slightly. "Ah… I should mention – I carry a shoulder wound. But I'll try not to let it hinder me," The moment she spoke of the wound, she mentally cursed herself. If they truly meant to deceive her, then revealing her injury was unwise.

Chambers frowned, looking towards where Gabriel sat contently. "You mean you didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?"

"About humanity," Chambers said and Ostora nodded.

"No, he did. Taken from an Undead and –"

"And fed to the flames," Gabriel interrupted, waving a hand in the air. "It all helps to prevent the inevitable. Yes, yes, I told her,"

Chambers nudged Myrill who angrily shook her head. He sighed, rolling his eyes subtly before reaching into a pouch tied to his belt. Tenderly, he pulled out a fine, black crystal. Despite the solidity of its color, the crystal seemed to hold unlimited depth and the seemingly smooth surface shuttered with numerous edges. "Humanity," Chambers spoke, answering the question that sat waiting. "Here," He offered it out to Ostora who took it, mimicking the same tender hold he had used. "Now, go on. Feed it to the flames,"

For an instance, Ostora hesitated. The black crystal seemed to vibrate in her hand the closer she moved it to the bonfire and when she dropped it, watching curiously, it dissolved into ash. All at once, a loud pop emanated from the fire and Ostora shut her eyes as white light sprang forward. It was over in less than a second and yet felt longer. Haltingly, her eyes opened and she saw both Chambers and Gabriel smiling at her.

"The difference is rather incredible," Gabriel said, both eyebrows lifting.

Even without moving it, Ostora could feel the muscles rework deep within her shoulder. When she did rotate it, she let out a faint gasp. There was no pain and she was certain that if she took off the bandages, there would be no hole. Further than that, there was even a change in her hands. They were fleshier and the purplish color that had plagued her seemed more peach-like. "How…?"

Chambers shrugged his shoulders with a chuckle. "Humanity is a powerful thing, I suppose,"

Almost in a daze, Ostora made her way up the stairs and to the small pool of water where her shield and scimitar lay. She knelt down to grab them but froze at the reflection she saw. The shadows under her eyes had vanished and her cheeks had filled in. She no longer looked emaciated. A pink blush had crept back into her lips and her hair, dry strands of gray, was streaked with brown high lights. Long lashes veiled muddy eyes and one mole hid next to a crooked nose; a beauty mark, someone had once called it. Gabriel was right – the different was incredible.

"Well, off you go then," the chainmail warrior said as she returned to the group. "And good luck – you'll be needing it," Wearing the smirk he was fond of, his gaze lingered on Ostora. The message behind his farewell was not lost on her.

Hopefully, it was unnecessary.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey, everyone. Randomly drew up a cover image - why? I dunno. But there it is. I'm really looking forward to continuing this story - I've come up with the ending and I think ya'll will like it. I hope, anyway. I have lots of little plans lined up that I'm eagerly awaiting and I'm glad that the reception of my main protagonist has gone over well. I was a little worried about that. I look forward to creating more depth to each character so that by the end, hoooopefully you'll feel attached. Or at least, uh well...you know what I mean. Also, thanks again for the kind words. I really do appreciate them. If there's any mistakes in this chapter, I apologize - it's late and I'm super tired. But as always: anyways, let's continue! :]

**Chapter Five**

The longer Ostora walked with Chambers and Myrill, the more she realized what an odd pair they were. Myrill would occasionally walk by the cleric's side but spent more time slinking ahead into the shadows. The soft pads of her feet were almost impossible to hear and the woman seemed to think it fun to startle Ostora by appearing beside her. Chambers was the opposite of Myrill's behavior. He remained at Ostora's side, content to discuss architecture he found interesting or recall stories of his time in the asylum. Those Ostora suffered through silently. For some reason, Chambers could revisit memories of the dank hell with happiness.

As they went along, the ground was littered with the bodies of dead Hollow soldiers. The smell of their decomposition made Ostora want to gag - but she would not permit herself to do so in front of strangers. Instead, she opted for breathing out of her mouth; a slight improvement. Chambers and Myrill had gotten far - Ostora had to give them the credit they so obviously deserved. Of course, as they went along, the cleric made sure to point out his favorite victories.

"See that one? He pushed a flaming barrel at us," he said as they walked up a flight of stairs. "Must've thought he was being clever,"

"This beast was no trouble," was his comment towards the enormous body of a demon hanging off a high walkway. "I came up with a brilliant idea to jump down on him from that tower," He motioned to said structure before catching sight of Myrill's glare. "Well, technically I suppose Myrill came up with the plan,"

Each story of a win furthered the dull ache growing within Ostora's center. Her fingers would tighten around the scimitar she carried with each corpse they passed. For Chambers and Myrill, these deaths brought them pride but Ostora could hear the crash of metal against metal. The scraping of feet against stones. The dog-like whimpering as the victim clung to life the best they could before it slipped from their reach. How could they tread upon the palm of death without realizing they could be swallowed whole within the clutches of a fist at any moment? Did the black crystals give them so much confidence that they no longer feared dying? Or had they forgotten such a fate was even possible in the first place?

"Ostora."

At Chambers' whisper, she glanced up and barely caught herself from running straight into his back. He had been prattling on about faith and she had been so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed his sudden stop. The cleric stared forward and Ostora followed his gaze. The courtyard they stood in - the site of the boar fight Chambers had mentioned, if she recalled correctly - was uncomfortably silent. Chambers' focus was on Myrill, who crouched on a high platform. The petite woman's body was rigid, like a spring coiled too tightly into a ball. Slowly, Ostora watched as Myrill raised a hand out in front of her then snapped it into a fist.

"Humanity," Chambers breathed. He spun around to face Ostora. "It's an ambush,"

As she turned, Ostora could see Myrill dash through an open doorway as a figure fell from the platform above her. Both disappeared and did not return. Behind them, a quick shadow darted down a flight of stairs and into a corner. The sounds of gears shifting echoed off the walls as the open gate guarding the Undead Church slammed shut.

"To the right!" Chambers yelled as a sizzling ball rolled their way but having noticed it first, Ostora had already jumped. Their bodies collided as the bomb exploded and both were sent flying backwards from the blast. "I said right!" Chambers exclaimed when their bodies had come to a stop against the ground.

There was no time to apologize. In the smoke, Ostora could make out two figures. There was something else - something long that was plunging towards her. With a gasp, Ostora rolled backwards and a thick sword smashed down where her body had been. Another shadow sliced through the air and she crouched, rolling to the side just as Chambers side stepped in her direction. Ostora stumbled forward against her knees while the cleric tripped, a small pouch flying from his grasp. The blade Ostora had been trying to avoid nicked her newly formed cheek and she winced, feeling the wet blood drip down her neck.

Blindly, she swung her scimitar forward. The blade connected with solid metal and Ostora jumped to her feet, pushing off what had to be a shield to put distance between her and these intruders. As the smoke cleared the area, her eyes honed in on the two figures and took in their details as quickly as she could. Two men; one large and well built, the other short and gangly. The large one, covered from head to toe in steel armor, carried a gleaming greatsword with two hands. And he carried it easily, too - such a weapon would feel like a feather in his muscular grasp. The other male wore a mix of leather and iron plates which allowed him to dance from foot to foot, his hands clamped onto a rapier and shield. There were two others, Ostora realized - the one who had fallen on Myrill and the one who had closed the gate. But where they were, she did not know. There was no time to search, either.

Mace firmly in hand, Chambers knocked away the small man's rapier but the man evaded the swing the cleric directed at his chest. Ostora stepped to help her companion but a deep grunt caught her attention. The armored knight had his sword raised above his head and she pivoted to the side as it came down. The moment the sword hit the stones, however, the man jerked his wrists and maneuvered the blade in a wide sweep. The movements were done smoothly, all paying homage to his physique. Ostora jumped as far backwards as was physically possible but it was not enough. She grimaced as she felt the blade dig into her waist and a breath of pain left her lungs.

"Ostora!" Chambers yelled. His shield was raised, blocking the strikes of the rapier, but in his other hand was the small pouch he had earlier lost. Somehow, he had gotten a hold on it. "Get down!"

Ostora's brow furrowed in confusion. "What-?" But her question was cut off as the cleric closed his eyes. A tremor rippled through his body and Ostora felt the air quiver. It was like the ripples in a pond following the drop of a stone. The pressure was timid at first but as it grew wider, the force grew stronger. While the smaller man rolled out of the blast's range, both Ostora and the armored knight were thrown backwards. The knight slammed into a stone pillar, cracking it down the center. Ostora's body slapped into the corpse of the dead boar and as pain spread through her spine, she knew the hard wall would have been less forgiving.

Mace armed, Chambers sprinted towards the dazed knight while Ostora shook her head, trying to regain her senses. Through the black dots fluttering in front of her eyes, she could see Chambers running - but he was not alone. The smaller man had discarded his shield and wielded his rapier now with both hands. Without hesitating, Ostora pushed off the boar and leapt, throwing herself forward. Chambers' mace lodged deep into the disoriented knight's chest, piercing his armor just as Ostora flung her arms around the small man's waist. His head hit the ground with a thump and Chambers lifted his mace, bringing it down upon the knight once more. There was a sickening crack as the knight's eyes went wide. With the small man disoriented and pinned under her, Ostora turned her scimitar horizontal, pressing it to his throat. Shoving her weight against the metal, she closed her eyes as the blade sank into flesh.

Breathing heavily, Ostora opened her eyes to an open hand in front of her. Taking it, she let Chambers help her to her feet. The side of his lip was bright with blood and there was a line down the front of his chest where the rapier had cut through his robes. Ostora took note of her own body - the cut at her waist was tolerable and her cheek wound had already stopped bleeding. Neither, it seemed, had suffered much.

"Myrill," Chambers said quickly, rushing towards a flight of stairs but a sharp whistle stopped him short. Sitting on the platform with a grin was the petite woman and in her hand, a blood covered, black crystal. Chambers let out a laugh as she slipped from the platform, landing squarely on her feet. "Enjoy the show? I suppose you handled yourself well, then,"

Ostora's lips twitched downwards. Indeed, it appeared as through Myrill had. Not a scratch marked her skin. Even dust had evaded her and the blade hooked on her belt looked as fresh as ever. Raising her arms out to her side slightly, Myrill's shoulders shook in a small chuckle before she slipped the bloodied crystal into a pouch on her hip. As Chambers turned to regard the fresh corpses they had created, Ostora's gaze lingered on Myrill before she glanced around.

"Not a very good ambush," Chambers said with a scoff.

"It's not over," Ostora murmured. She nodded subtly at the closed gate.

Standing behind the bars was a young girl. The robes she wore were stained with dirt, blood, and other colors whose origins Ostora did not care to know. A wide hat lay askew on her head and in her hands was a thin, wooden staff. Carvings circled down the handle, intricately weaving in and out of one another.

"Myrill. Find a way around," Chambers said as his eyes turned cold; business again. This was a look meant purely for a fight and the girl seemed to know it.

"No!" she cried, "Wait, please! I'm friendly, I promise," Flustered, the girl circled around before running into the corner she had stumbled out from. There was another loud clang and the gate began to lift.

With a nod, Chambers made his way to where the girl stood nervously, Ostora only a few steps behind him. She was younger than Ostora had first thought - younger than both of her companions. Panicked eyes surrounded by a round face darted from Chambers to Ostora.

"See," the girl rushed, "I'm friendly - and I'm sorry. They - they said they'd kill me if I didn't pull the lever. I didn't know what else to do," As if to prove her loyalty, she threw down her staff.

Behind them, Myrill made her way down the stairs. Her head was cocked to the side, expression stoic. Chambers gave the girl a soft smile and moved closer to the girl. She flinched but stood still, watching the cleric warily. Ostora took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline of battle leave her. It was over then.

"Was that all of them?" Chambers inquired, placing a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

At his touch, she seemed to relax and returned his smile. "Yes. Only three. They overpowered me," she said, nodding earnestly.

"You're certain?"

"Yes, I promise,"

Peering at the church that loomed before them, Ostora paused. Thoughtfully, she turned to the girl. "You're a mage?"

"Yes," the girl replied. "And a good one, too. I know all sorts of spells,"

Ostora smiled lightly at the girl's desire to please. She was so young - too young to have to suffer this cruel world. "Perhaps you'll be of help to - "

"No," Chambers interrupted suddenly. The hand he had on the girl's shoulder strengthened as her eyes widened. When she pulled away, he grasped her forearm with his other hand.

"Chambers!" Ostora said incredeously, stepping towards the pair. "What are you - "

"I'm sorry," The cleric's hold tightened and, like a ghost, Myrill appeared at her back. Ostora's lips parted and she surged forward to grab the girl, but it was too late. "May the flames guide thee," Chambers whispered as Myrill's blade plunged through the girl's back and out her breast bone. The girl let out a cry, blood spotting against her lips as her body seemed to break. She fell limply into Chambers while Myrill withdrew her blade, replacing it with her fingertips. Almost lovingly, the petite woman pulled a black crystal free from the girl's wound.

"Chambers," Ostora whispered, drowning with horror.

Chambers lowered the girl's body to the ground respectfully before looking at Ostora. "I know what you'd say. But you're wrong. It wasn't cruel,"

"She was unarmed!" The words burst from Ostora before she could reign them back. "She meant no harm!"

"We don't know that," Chambers shook his head. "Better to die quickly than slowly in this world. She wasn't made for it - you saw that, too. Besides, humanity - " he gestured to the crystal Myrill was wiping off against her trousers. " - helps keep Hollowing at bay. It helped you before - it will help you again."

"But - but - " Ostora ran a hand through her hair, stumbling back a step as her mind reeled.

Myrill merely stared, slipping the crystal into her pouch. Walking past Ostora, she went to the other corpses and knelt before them with her blade. Ostora couldn't watch. Instead, she found herself fixated on the lifeless eyes of the girl. This was what Gabriel had been talking about; taking from other Undead and 'coveting' they neighbor. And how easily they had killed - there was nothing to stop them from doing the same to her. "Humanity..." she breathed, "And there's no other way?" The terror now forever frozen on the girl's face seemed to beg for one.

"No. Unfortunately, there's not," Chambers paused before sighing. "I know you're upset. I understand why - I was too at first. I didn't like it either,"

"Then why do such a thing?" Ostora whispered and again, Chambers shook his head.

"Because if I don't, they'll do it to me," he said simply.

He stopped as Myrill rejoined them, holding out her hands. A black crystal lay cupped in each palm like an offering. Chambers took one easily, letting it fall into his pouch. Humanity; the one thing her body needed and yet its gain matched its cost. "There's still the bell to worry about," he muttered, directing his words towards Ostora.

She stood silently. Myrill raised an eyebrow, waving her palm forward with a small shake. A smirk drifted against the woman's lips but Ostora paid it no attention. The girl's cry filled her mind - the sheer pain and fright in her eyes. Ostora swallowed hard, tearing her own eyes away from the black crystal. "No," she said quietly. "I'm fine,"

Chambers looked at her sadly as Myrill simply shrugged while the cleric took the crystal instead. "After we ring the bell, I'll take you to someone who can explain all of this better than I can,"

"Will he make this right?" Ostora questioned, her tone low as she stared blankly at Chambers from under her lashes.

He twitched at her gaze, unable to meet it. "No. Perhaps not. But he has answers you've been waiting for." The idea of seeing this man seemed to cheer the cleric up. "Yes. You'll understand then. He'll tell you what he told me, I'm sure,"

He turned abruptly, heading up the stairs with Myrill in tow. Ostora stared after the pair. Someone could explain the monstrosity of taking humanity? Someone who could make it alright and justify killing youthful innocents? If getting used to murder was how one had to survive this world, maybe it was better to fall in suit with Gabriel and wait to Hollow. Her eyes slid towards the body of the young girl.

"I'm sorry,"

Perhaps humanity wasn't worth it. She wasn't sure.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey, everyone. Busy week – aren't those great? It's good to know that my take on humanity was well received (hopefully). I adore the game and all aspects but I definitely want to take these things and create a world that's almost…realistic. Fantastically realistic. It's going to be ugly and gruesome – just like Dark Souls! :] I'm pretty certain I won't involve the notion of different times simply because I don't feel confident in being able to explain how that works. I also hadn't given thought to wraiths but now that you mention it, it solves an issue I've been having with a plot idea…so thanks! I have an idea for their involvement which I hope you'll enjoy. Oh, quick comment – Knights of Berenike are apparently also called 'Iron Knights' or 'Heavy Knights'. Some places told me 'Tower Knight' which I know is a term used in Demon Soul's. But, I found the term multiple places regarding Dark Souls and I sort of prefer it over 'Heavy Knight' so that's the one I used. Just throwing that out there. Anyways, let's continue! :]

**Chapter Six**

There was very little Ostora remembered of her past. She could recall blue eyes in dark light and laughter that faded into echoes the longer she thought on it. She could recall feeling angry yet she did not know what the cause was. There were no memories of family or friends; of a well spent life. The name so many - or no one - had called her lay untouched in some dark corner of her mind. Her age, her name - and her beliefs. As the trio made their way up the long flight of stairs to the doors of the church, it was beliefs that Ostora thought on. Had she been like Chambers once - prattling about faith? Had she believed in the Gods or had she turned her back to them? The high walls of the church seemed to tower over them and Ostora swallowed hard, focusing forward and refusing to let herself be intimidated. Whatever life she had been a part of was gone now and all her beliefs with it.

Her eyes flickered to her two companions. Perhaps it was their beliefs that were the concern, not her loss of such things. There had been no hesitation in Chambers. He had held onto the girl without giving any time to consider her innocence. And Myrill - there had certainly been no pause to her actions. While Chambers may have spoken apologetically, his tone brimming with sympathy despite his intent, there had been only apathy in Myrill's expression.

Ahead of her, Chambers and Myrill came to a stop, bodies tense. Like mist, three bodies emerged from the doors of the church. Each wielded a shield and sword but these figures were not part of an ambush. In the morning sunlight, specks of red eyes stared down the trio. Shriveled skin barely covered bone and in many places, their armor had cracked or been worn down to practically nothing. Balder knights.

"More Hollow," Chambers muttered under his breath, readjusting his hold on his mace. "Wonderful,"

Taking in the three foes, Ostora placed a hand against her waist. The cut was tender to the touch but as she applied pressure, she grew confident that it would not hold her back. Such a small injury wasn't enough to stop her - not with the first Bell of Awakening so close.

The center Hollow raised his smaller shield and his long rapier to eye level before grunting. At this nonverbal command, the two Hollow beside him began to step slowly to the side, bodies turned towards their prey. Still fueled by the adrenaline of battle, Chambers and Myrill stepped up and Ostora realized just how clumsily she had handled herself in the ambush. Separated, the others fought with individual styles but together? As Chambers took off to the right, Myrill matched him step for step to the left. As the two were occupied, the center Hollow grunted again, bouncing on its feet once before rushing towards Ostora. She leapt back, pulling her stomach in as the point of the rapier thrust towards her center.

Chambers brought his mace down towards one Balder knight but it pivoted to the side, dodging the ball of metal. Leaving the mace on the ground, the cleric turned sharply and pressed his foot to the knight's chest. He pushed and for a moment, it appeared caught off guard. A moment was all he needed - from further down the steps, kept busy by the knight's rapier, Ostora watched him raise the small, brown pouch he had earlier used. This time, he did not call out a warning and Ostora's head shot towards Myrill who was standing too close to the cleric, dodging swings from the Balder knight in front of her. Ostora opened her mouth to call for the woman to get back but there was no need. As Chambers' eyes closed, the Balder knight he had staggered flew backwards from the force emitted and directly into the path Myrill had rolled into. It seemed as though the knight would land on the woman but as it fell towards the ground, she lifted from her roll in a crouch. Turning on her knee to face the foe, Myrill shot her dagger upwards, spearing the falling knight on it. His body shook as a low rasp brought him still. The knight Myrill had been busy with had been thrown into the wall, body broken.

As Ostora dodged and swung towards the knight in front of her, it was evident that Chambers and Myrill had been fighting together for a time. She could not decide if this was a good thing or possibly problematic.

The Balder knight's sword bounced off her shield and Ostora lunged forward, plunging her scimitar through its chest. She slid the blade free, flicking it free of the clotted blood that remained.

"Only three?" Chambers scoffed. "Hardly a challenge. I would've thought there'd be more,"

"Don't get cocky," Ostora murmured, walking past him and taking the lead as she cautiously glanced around. As she stepped into the church, her feet froze and she felt both Chambers and Myrill fall to a stop behind her.

A high ceiling covered a room full of pillars and wooden pews. Lit only by candle light, statues of pious women lined the walls and again, Ostora was struck by the concept of faith. The room echoed with past lives; the ghosts of those who had bowed their heads from the pews and begged an unseen God for forgiveness. The sins of many were protected by the church and at one time, it had been a place of safety and guidance. Now? There was no absolution to be found here.

At the front of the room, the statue of a woman holding a child stared out at no one. The candles flickered, high lighting a smile against her features one moment and suffering the next. In front of the statue was a stone slab and upon it, the corpse of a forgotten person. Who they had once been held no significance anymore; their body, now bones and the remnants of decayed muscle tissue, would soon turn to dust.

However, what drew the trio's focus was not the steadiness in the air or the beauty of sacred ground. A man stood in front of the alter – or what once was a man. Thick, dark armor covered his massive frame and the shield he carried stood as tall as his own height, which surpassed even Chambers. The sword he held was tainted by dried blood. Many had seen this man yet from the faint scratches in his armor, Ostora knew that none had lived to speak of him.

Somewhere in the depths of her mind, a story called to Ostora. These men – Knights of Berenike or Tower Knights – were mighty warriors. Giants of men, their strength and courage rivaled any opponents and their praise was recognized throughout many lands. But many became Undead and upon their fateful journey to Lordran, became Hollow. Ostora stared at the menacing figure before them. What could have happened that caused such a strong man to give up? A feeling stirred in her gut and Ostora swallowed hard. It was pride. Whoever she had been before, she had admired these warriors and perhaps even been envious of them.

"There are three of us," Chambers whispered. "– and only one of him,"

Ostora nodded slowly and the Tower Knight shifted. From the shadows of his helmet, red eyes bore into them like arrows. He stepped forward and swiftly, the trio moved. Both Chambers and Myrill veered off towards either side while Ostora took his front. The Tower Knight swung his sword and Ostora brought up her shield. The blade connected squarely with it but his strength startled her. Ostora cursed herself. She knew the stories; she should have known better. The hit pushed her onto her knees and Ostora had to release her scimitar in order to hold her shield above her head with both hands. Mace ready, Chambers rushed in but the Tower Knight simply swiped his shield to the side, letting his sword rest upon Ostora's like a table. The piece of metal was like a wall as it ran into Chambers, knocking the cleric backwards and into a pillar. At the same moment, Myrill leapt onto the Tower Knight's shoulders, balancing her knees on either side of his head. She sliced at his throat but her dagger could not find a way under his steel helmet. The Tower Knight grumbled unintelligibly and let his sword fall, allowing Ostora to be free of its weight. Reaching up, his hand grabbed Myrill's back. The petite woman was like a doll compared to the knight. He tossed her body to the side as if he was pulling off a tick and she collided with a wooden pew. The pew cracked and broke her half while the woman lay still.

The Tower Knight lazily bent down and reached for his sword. Ostora's eyes darted from Chambers, who was just now getting to his feet and shaking his head, to the empty hand of the Tower Knight. It was a rare opportunity – the Tower Knight would not remain unarmed for long. Discarding her shield, Ostora gripped her scimitar with both hands. She surged forth and put all of her strength into an upwards, diagonal slash –

- and stumbled backwards in newfound horror as the blade only cut into the Tower Knight's armor, never touching his flesh. The Tower Knight scooped up his sword and stood as if Ostora had not hit him at all. She met Chambers' gaze only to find that the cleric looked equally as horrified. There was a scuffling from behind and Ostora heard a muffled cough.

The Tower Knight swung again and Ostora caught his sword against her scimitar but again, the power of the knight pushed her to her knees. Chambers came at the Tower Knight, managing to avoid the shield but when his mace hit the knight's breast plate, it too did not sink to flesh. Ostora's mind reeled. She could not continue to block the Tower Knight's attacks. Eventually, a hit would plow through her defenses and the sword would slice through her like butter. She vaulted for her shield despite this, promptly rolling out of the Tower Knight's range.

He was slow, Ostora noted, and bulky. While his swing was powerful, it took time to raise the sword and surely such a thing was taxing. But what could they do if they could not get through his armor? It would take too many hits.

Suddenly, Myrill appeared at her side. The woman glanced at both Ostora and Chambers before seeming to sigh. Surrendering her dagger, Myrill's steady gaze turned to Ostora. There were words within her eyes but Ostora could not decipher them and before she could ask, the Tower Knight swung again. Ostora jumped back while Myrilled rolled – towards the knight? He struck at her with his shield but Myrill dove through his legs, landing in a crouch. The Tower Knight turned, slamming his sword down where she had been – as she had already rolled to the side.

Chambers seemed to pick up on Myrill's intentions immediately. He plunged his mace into the Tower Knight's back and as he pulled it free, the knight turned towards him but Myrill lobbed a small dagger at his neck. The Tower Knight groaned in frustration, focusing back on the petite woman and slashing at her. A slight smile crossed Ostora's lips. As Myrill kept the Tower Knight's attention, she had provided both her and Chambers time to get through the steel armor. Progress was slow but after a multitude of hits, the Tower Knight's back was covered with deep dents. Past him, Ostora could see Myrill beginning to slow. Her chest rose and fell quickly and sweat shone against her forehead. Exhaustion was also beginning to plague Ostora and Chambers. While the plan was clever, it was not one they were able to keep up forever. Thankfully, fatigue was also beginning to show on the knight. As Chambers mace met the Tower Knight's back, at last, a snap echoed off the walls as a crack formed, a small piece of steel chipping off. At the sight, Ostora could feel her hope falter. That was all? That was what their efforts had gone into? A crack and a small hole? How many more hits would they have to administer before her scimitar or Chambers' mace could do real damage? The impossibility of their quest dawned on Ostora – perhaps Gabriel had been right. Perhaps it was better not to attempt to ring the Bells of Awakening. It was possible that such a thing could not be accomplished.

As the Tower Knight stuttered, obviously surprised to feel his armor break, Myrill snorted with disgust. Her face twisted with both weariness and anger. With a new energy, Ostora watched as Myrill danced around the Tower Knight, slipping her hand to her waist. She withdrew a thin dagger but this one was unlike the others she wielded for a thick liquid dripped off the narrow blade. The Tower Knight recovered from his shock but by then, Myrill had already thrust her hand forward. The dagger sank into the thin layer of clothing beneath his armor and into his flesh until only the hilt could be seen. The effect was alarming. The mighty warrior let out a thunderous moan as his spine arched backwards. His shield fell to the ground as he bent forward and like a wasp, Myrill struck again. Another dagger in hand, she leapt onto the Tower Knight's shoulders, balancing with ease. This time, she found the vulnerable flesh beneath his helmet as she plunged a tainted dagger into the knight's neck. The Tower Knight roared. His body shook and Myrill flew from his shoulders, tumbling to the ground ungracefully.

As she got to her feet, the three could only watch. He swung his sword blindly in a rage but it was as though he could not see them any longer. Breathing labored, the knight paused as a shudder ran across his chest. No longer did he swipe at them; now when he raised his sword, it would merely fall to the ground until at last, he could not lift it. The Tower Knight turned in their direction. His body was hunched and Ostora felt a pang of guilt drive through her chest. She had once admired these men, hadn't she? It wasn't right. At some point, the man had been a proud and indomitable knight. He could have been adored by many. Little boys could have pretended to be him during sword play with peers. And now he stood before them with nothing.

Setting down her scimitar and shield, Ostora stepped forward.

Chambers grabbed her arm. "Ostora, no," he hissed, shooting a concerned look towards the knight.

Ostora shook off his hold. Cautiously, she approached the large man. He made no movement except for one twitch of his body at the sound of her steps. Three heads taller than her, Ostora extended her arm upwards. Her fingertips brushed against the cold armor and the Tower Knight jerked forward. Chambers let out a gasp but Ostora gently pushed against the armor. The strong man weakly remained in place; he was no threat now.

"I'm sorry," Ostora whispered. Somehow, she knew these words would become her prayer.

Throwing back his head, the Tower Knight let out a long, aching bellow. Ostora moved aside as his body fell forward, bouncing off the hard ground before settling. In death, the knight seemed smaller. Somberly, Ostora turned to Myrill and Chambers. Both looked exhausted and worn.

"Let's continue," Ostora murmured.

Chambers nodded once, following after her as she headed towards a flight of stairs with Myrill in his shadow. Whether or not gods existed, Ostora did not know. If they were, then were they similar to men? Could they be capable of both good and evil? But like men, if gods did exist, they were cruel.

As if to solidify her thoughts, a sudden clang ran through the church. The three came to a halt, looking towards the entrance to the church. But the noise did not come from the doors but upon a balcony that faced the alter. Standing with arms outstretched was a figure clad in elaborate robes. In one hand was a long, golden trident which it rhythmically tapped against the floor.

"A Channeler," Chambers said, answering Ostora's silent question.

As if it had heard him, the Channeler began to quicken the drum-like beat it created with its trident. There was a shuffle of movement from behind it.

And Hollow began to rain down from the balcony.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey everyone. I'm really sorry about the long wait - and I'm sure this chapter needs some editing which I promise I'll get to later. It was a busy week full of school stress but I should be able to fall back into a regular schedule again. I feel confident to promise one chapter a week at least and I'll try to write up some in advance so that you don't have to wait this long again. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but I really wanted to get you guys something. Anyways, enjoy! [:

**Chapter Seven**

A prophecy, passed down through writing or vocally and viewed as divine will. To ring the Bells of Awakening, the fate of the Undead - this was their prophecy. This was their divine will. Broken down, however, the meaning was simple. It was a prediction and by those standards, perhaps better left as a guess. If the ringing of the Bells of Awakening meant life or death, was such a taste worth the risk?

Staring at the many red eyes that swarmed around them, Ostora wasn't entirely sure. Already their task had proven difficult and now, bodies tired and sore, they were faced with another obstacle. She was certain that after this one, they'd be faced with another. Then another. And another. When would it stop?

But the difficulty they faced could also argue that it made their prophecy true. Why would something based only off a guess be almost impossible to complete? With so much danger, it had to mean something.

The Hollow approaching them were dressed in only rags and as they rushed the trio, a thought struck Ostora. She ducked as Chambers and Myrill split away from her, digging her scimitar into a Hollow's chest before pulling it out and slicing at another. Once upon a time, these Hollow had been people, hadn't they? But they wore no armor and the swords they carried were broken and rusted. Ostora's eyes flickered around the dim room. Perhaps the sinners had never left the church after all.

Beside her, Chambers swung his mace back and forth into one Hollow and the next. They fell as if strings holding them up had been cut with no notice, crumpling to the floor in a heap.

Suddenly, the cleric's eyes were on her. "Ostora!" He yelled, beginning to run in her direction. "Look out!"

Kicking a Hollow away from her, Ostora's gaze turned in the direction of a faint humming. Almost mesmerized, she froze. Streaking towards her was a thick, blue ray that came to a point at the end. It cracked and popped as if it were alive - and angry. The color didn't belong in such a dull environment and for a moment, all Ostora could do was stare. It was deadly, she knew, but it was also beautiful.

The cleric's arms circled around her waist as he jumped forward, knocking both to the ground. Grunting, Chambers rolled off Ostora as more Hollow came towards them. A blade appeared at the one's throat, cutting neatly before appearing at the throat of another. Myrill made her way swiftly along the Hollow that blocked the staircase and then disappeared up it.

The Channeler stood above them on the platform, raising his trident to the sky as if to encourage his small army of Hollow. Ostora shook her head and clamored to her feet quickly. Stupid. Once again, she had been stupid. Part of her knew this world and yet the part that didn't became enraptured by each new detail. What she needed to do was focus and fight - she had been a good fighter once. In fact, she had been one of the best. Even as a little girl, all of the boy's knew not to pick on her. Except for -

The thoughts came in a tumble and Ostora gasped, matching the same falter as the Hollow she struck down. As she turned, bringing her scimitar diagonally across a Hollow's chest, she desperately tried to pull the thoughts back to the front of her mind, despite her earlier desire to focus. Yes...yes, she had been a very good fighter. Sticks and twigs before stone and iron but strong in all fields. But only because -

Another stream of blue light interrupted Ostora's chain of consciousness and she leapt out of the way, raising her shield as she went. Breathing heavy, her head shot up to look at the cleric who took down the last remaining Hollow - or rather, what she hoped was the last remaining Hollow. From high on the platform, the Channeler looked from side to side before bringing its hands to the center of its chest. A slight vibration filled the room as a golden light began to flow from its hands and encircle around it. The Channeler's form shivered and Ostora's eyes widened as Myrill appeared behind it. The petite woman grabbed the large figure's shoulder, readying her blade but as she plunged it towards its back, the Channeler vanished. Myrill stumbled forward and caught herself at the edge of the platform, her blade cutting into nothing.

For a moment, the trio could do nothing but stand in the silence and wait. The stench of corpses had little effect on them now. Their bodies remained tense with anticipation. What would come next? Another steel covered knight? More stunning magic? But nothing came.

Chambers was the first to let out a slow breath. "Do you think...it's over?"

Above them, Myrill's posture relaxed - though her blade remained firm in her grasp. She shrugged her shoulders and walked out of their line of sight.

"I don't know, either," Ostora said quietly. Her eyes ran over the walls of the church as she listened. All that was left was silence.

Chambers let out a bark of a laugh, slipping his mace into a notch on his belt. "Well, that wasn't so hard. I expected a lot worse. The Channeler even ran away,"

Ostora glanced at the mace he had put away and shook her head. Was he a fool? She turned for the staircase. "Be on your guard nonetheless," she muttered. She caught Chambers frown before she began to trek up the stairs.

Broken furniture hinted at the notion of a once thriving church and dust collected in piles on the hard ground. Once again, Ostora found herself wondering about the horde of Hollow that had descended upon them. Had they been men of the church? Of faith? As she pushed a broken chair aside with her foot, she scoffed. If so, perhaps this was another testimony of where faith led people.

Myrill raised her eyebrows at Ostora and Chambers as they approached. With one arm, she lazily pointed up towards an old, metal ladder.

"The bell tower?" Ostora asked. Myrill nodded.

With a sigh, Ostora glanced between the two. They looked exhausted and worn. What foe would they meet upon greeting the bell? Or worse - would their bodies be able to handle such a thing?

"I suppose we climb then," Ostora murmured.

Chambers nodded enthusiastically. Despite all that had happened, his spirits remained chipper and from that positivity, he seemed to draw new energy into himself. "We've made it this far - whatever is left will be simple." The cleric shot a wide smile towards Myrill. "See? I told you having another with us would be beneficial. You should always listen to me,"

Myrill grunted and rolled her eyes, turning away from them and reaching towards the ladder. Gracefully, she pulled herself up half of it in one jump. Ostora hooked her scimitar to her waist, grabbing onto the ladder when a noise echoed off the walls. The trio froze, their heads quickly pinpointing the direction of the noise.

"Oh gods," Chambers breathed. Quickly, he gave Ostora a nudge. "Up the ladder. We'll ring the bell before whatever monster that is finds us,"

As the noise echoed around them again, Ostora frowned and stepped away from the ladder. "No..." she said slowly.

"What do you mean no?" Chambers hissed. Myrill slid down the ladder and gave Ostora an incredulous glare.

Cautiously, Ostora walked down the hallway, following the sound of the noise. She stopped halfway and looked back towards her frustrated companions. "It's no Hollow," she whispered. "Stay here. I'll call if I need you," At her words, Chambers seemed to relax. Myrill, however, furrowed her brow as her eyes darted back towards the ladder. With a sharp snort, she shook herself angrily.

"Be quick about it," Chambers reply came back, followed by a quieter, "-and if it's someone, bring them back with you,"

Fingers brushing the hilt of her scimitar, Ostora followed the sound of the cough. Her lips tightened as Chambers words resonated with her. Bring them back with her - of course he would request that. Just like the young girl, he and Myrill would take the humanity from an innocent. No, whoever this was, they would be protected by her blade. There would be no more victims today.

The coughs seemed to grow fainter and Ostora would have to pause to listen. They led her to a blocked entrance, boarded up with planks of wood but the wood was wet and rotting. It fell to pieces in her hands and she followed the short staircase and came face to face with a series of small cells.

And a man sitting within one.

His golden armor was different than any Ostora had seen. It was far too glamorous for this world and yet hardship had not eluded the stranger. The golden armor was scuffed with dirt and Ostora could make out small dents that needed to be repaired. His helmet sat beside him. The shape was unusual - while it offered protection, the shape at the top looked almost kingly. At her approach, the man's head turned upwards then tilted to the side. He regarded her with sharp eyes that fit his even sharper features.

"Ah..." came a cool voice, "Still human, are you?" He paused, then chuckled once. "Well. Mostly, anyway. I suppose I'm in luck,"

"You're a prisoner," Ostora mused.

The man gave her a slow smile. "Very sharp. Yes, as you can see, I am stuck without recourse,"

His sarcasm was reminiscent of Gabriel and Ostora found herself frowning. "How did you end up locked in here?" she asked.

The man was silent for a long pause before he offered her the small, sly smile again. "In this world, who's to say?" he replied.

Ostora shook her head. "The guilty, it seems," If he did not want to answer her questions, then he sealed his own fate. While she would not hand him over to Chambers, she certainly would not play his games. There was no time for such things.

"No wait!" the man called, shuffling to his feet. "Hear me out!"

On his words, Ostora stopped and faced him. Her fingers drummed against the hilt of her scimitar in silent words. The meaning was not lost on the man who chuckled once more. "We live in a cruel world," He said, meeting her gaze. "Are we not all guilty? Could you not help me?" At Ostora's hesitation, he sighed softly. "Please, I have duties to fulfill." A spark glimmered in his eyes as he smiled once more. "And I will reward you handsomely,"

"No," Ostora said suddenly.

The man blinked, taken aback. "No? I am certain you stand to benefit," His fingers wrapped around the bars of his cell and his eyes narrowed, tone lowering. "I beg of you. Help me,"

Ostora stepped forward, drawing her scimitar. The man took a step back as his face fell flat, as if he were mentally preparing himself for slaughter. "If I help you..." Ostora began, letting the words slide from her lips. "Then you must help me,"

The man shook his head. "I can guarantee you a reward. Only later."

"No," Ostora said again.

The man's eyes narrowed further. "Well, am I to know what I am agreeing to assist with?"

"There is a bell," Ostora began, "It is very close but my companions and I have come far. If trouble should arise - "

"The Bells of Awakening," the man interrupted. He crossed his arms over his chest, seeming to hold the hands that were detailed into the armor. "Yes, I know of it. I have no interest in them, either,"

"But you have an interest in freedom," Ostora countered.

The man was silent again as he contemplated the woman in front of him. Finally, he blinked. "Well. Alright then. For my freedom and gratitude, I will help you," He bent down, picking up the golden helm and slipping it over his head. His sharp eyes were hidden from Ostora and she felt a wave of unease cross over her body. There was something in the man's tone that she disliked and yet should they meet trouble, help would be useful.

Taking a deep breath, Ostora gripped her scimitar with both hands. She swung once - hard and fast - and the metal bit into the lock on the cell.

"Again," the man encouraged and Ostora took another deep breath, bringing down her scimitar once more. On the third try, the lock splintered and on the fourth, finally cracked. It fell to the ground with a clank and the cell door swung open with a screech.

Regarding the man carefully as he stepped forth, Ostora kept her hold on her scimitar. He seemed to pay no mind, though, as he stretched out his arms. "My things are close," was all he said then his attention turned back towards Ostora. "Thank you. Yes, sincerely. I truly appreciate this,"

"Will you tell me what you did to be locked away?" Ostora asked, but the man simply chuckled.

"I will tell you that I am Knight Lautrec of Carim." Walking down the stairs, the golden man stopped to wait for her. "And that there is a bell waiting for us,"

Ostora followed after Lautrec but her mind tossed and turned. Lately, she had been making so many mistakes. Taking blows left and right, staring straight into deadly magic - the list went on. And now she had released a man who had agreed to help them with whatever they may face next - but how good was his word? How good was anyone's in this world? Had she released their demise?

He was right about one thing, though. There was a bell waiting.

It was time.


End file.
